


The Rhythm of Their Bodies

by pippen2112



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Consensual Non-Consent, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Humiliation, Knifeplay, M/M, Mirror Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safeword Use, Safewords, Teasing, Trans Agent Washington (Red vs. Blue), Trans Male Character, pre-negotiated scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 11:25:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16474652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippen2112/pseuds/pippen2112
Summary: “Green, yellow, red,” Wash whispers to himself. “‘Radio’ for a full stop.” He sucks in a sharp breath, catches a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror, and can’t help his gasp. Beneath all his freckles, a dark blush colors his cheeks. His lips are chapped and bitten red, and his eyes are already dilated.  He already looks strung out and eager.  His heart leaps into his throat, and something warm aches between his legs. Shooting himself a self-conscious grin in the mirror, he goes on, “You can do this, Wash.”





	The Rhythm of Their Bodies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ednoppoz (zopponde)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zopponde/gifts).



> I tagged this fic as rape/non con to be safe. Wash and Sam are doing consensual non-consent; they have safe words in place and negotiated the scene before they started.

“Green, yellow, red,” Wash whispers to himself. “‘Radio’ for a full stop.” He sucks in a sharp breath, catches a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror, and can’t help his gasp. Beneath all his freckles, a dark blush colors his cheeks. His lips are chapped and bitten red, and his eyes are already dilated. He already looks strung out and eager. His heart leaps into his throat, and something warm aches between his legs. Shooting himself a self-conscious grin in the mirror, he goes on, “You can do this, Wash.”

_“You don’t have to do this,” Sam says, his arms gently cradled around Wash. “Not if you’re uncomfortable.”_

_Wash shakes his head. “I want to, Sam. I really do. I’m just…” he trails off, acutely aware of his flush._

_Sam reaches up and cups his cheek, tilting Wash up to meet his warm brown eyes. Fuck, how can Sam be so steady? He’s so certain about everything when Wash is a mess of anxieties about anything from getting out of bed in the morning to deciding how to have a scene with his boyfriend. “It’s okay to be nervous, too,” Sam says, his quiet voice rumbling and smooth._

_Days like this, Wash just wants to wrap himself up in Sam’s everything and never let go. “I know,” he replies, nuzzling into Sam’s hand. “But if I don’t do this now, I don’t think I’ll ever have the guts to.”_

_Humming in assent, Sam leans down and kisses Wash, a firm press of lips and tongue. Wash keens and melts into the kiss, letting Sam kiss away those stupid little worries. They’ve discussed this to death, planned out a scene that is hot as fuck and hits so many of their buttons, and Sam triple checked everything with him before Wash came over today._

_Too bad talking about a scene and standing at the threshold of it are two wildly different things._

_When they part, Sam lets his hands slide down Wash’s arms and gently squeezes his forearms. “Go get ready. I’ll knock when I’m in position.”_

_As Wash nods and heads off to the bathroom, Sam swats his ass._

A gentle rap at the door startles Wash out of his thoughts—he’s just glad he didn’t yelp. Fuck, Sam’s already ready, and he’s spent the last ten minutes trying to psych himself out. With trembling hands, Wash strips off his clothes, pausing for a split second to gape at the mess he left in his boxers. _Okay, maybe I’m even more excited about this than I realized._ He does keep his binder on, though. _That’s a bridge for another day._

Exhaling, Wash turns to face the bathroom door. Thankfully the full length mirror on the back of the door is absent; he’s not ready to see his reflection, not right now. Instead, he pulls one of Sam’s towels around his waist, sucks in a breath, and opens the door. 

Wash steps into Sam’s room cautiously, already ruining the scene since he’s not supposed to know anything’s out of the ordinary. The late afternoon light drifts in through the parted curtains, the bed is neatly made, and the floors are clean. The room is empty and in perfect order. With another deep breath, Wash crosses to the bed.

Halfway across the room, something moves in the corner of his eye. Wash jerks, moving instinctively to fight off an intruder, but in seconds, he’s bent over the bed, a broader figure holding him down by the back of the neck. Struggling against the hold, Wash throws an elbow back but hits only air. “Fuck!”

“Stop fighting it, Washington,” Ortez growls, all warmth gone from his voice, replaced with menace.

Wash’s breath sticks in his throat.

All at once, he feels warmth and weight pressed against his back and hot breath against his neck. “I know what you want, Washington. I can smell it on you. Like a bitch in heat.”

He struggles again. “What the fuck? Get off me!”

“You know your words?” Sam whispers against the shell of his ear, breaking character for a split second.

Wash nods meekly.

“Good.” He presses a kiss to his hairline, then pulls back just enough to roll his hips against Wash’s. “Because I’m not stopping until I get what I want. What we both want,” Ortez says, punctuating each thought with a thrust. “Do you understand?”

 _Fuck, he sounds really good._ Wash freezes up, his everything going rigid before he starts struggling again.

With a displeased growl, Ortez moves the hand pinning Wash’s neck up to his hair. He yanks Wash’s back by his hair and slides something cold up under Wash’s chin. Something cold and sharp. A knife. Wash flinches away, but that only makes him press more firmly against Ortez. “I said, do you understand, Washington?” Ortez repeats, every word dripping with malice. 

“Yes,” Wash mumbles, his throat tight with fear.

Ortez tugs his hair tight, yanking him up off the bed. Wash scrambles to his feet, the knife a very pressing threat at his neck. The towel starts to slip around his hips; Wash reaches for it, but Ortez tugs him backward and murmurs in his ear, “Don’t. Let the towel fall.”

His hands flinch, willing himself to stay still and let gravity drag the towel down his legs and to the floor. And there he is, naked but for his binder, completely bared with a knife to his throat. 

With a low groan, Ortez grinds into him, a hot, hard bulge rubbing against his lower back. More warmth flares between his legs, but Wash is paralyzed. His chest constricts, and he can’t catch his breath. He’s flushed and anxious and all his attention is focused on the blade. One wrong move, and he’ll be bleeding out. A dark part of his mind hisses, _Maybe you should lean—_.

“Yellow,” he gasps, his heartbeat thundering in his ear as he cuts the thought short.

Instantly, Sam loosens his grip on Wash’s hair and pulls the knife away from Wash’s throat. And Wash collapses against him, the weight of relief crashing over him. He sucks in a long breath, holds for a second and lets it out.

“What is it?” Sam asks quietly. 

“The knife,” Wash says, his voice already rough and ragged. “The knife’s too much.”

“Of course. Just a moment.” Sam moves away from him, keeping one hand on Wash the entire time. Wash hears the bedside drawer open and close, and then Sam’s back, his chest pressed against Wash’s back, one hand kneading Wash’s hair, the other stroking up Wash’s chest and coming to rest against the base of his throat. “This better?”

Wash nods, his cheeks burning. “Thanks,” he answers glumly. Of course he couldn’t handle it. Why wouldn’t he be freaked out? It’s just like him to—

“Shh,” Sam whispers against his neck, sending a shiver racing down Wash’s spine. “Your comfort matters. Now, you ready for more?”

His groin flutters. “Yes, please.”

Chuckling, Sam nibbles at Wash’s ear before tightening his grip around Wash’s throat. Wash barely contains his moan. 

“Now,” Ortez continues in his hard, harsh tone, “be a good boy, and open my pants.”

As quickly as he snapped out of the scene, Wash is back in it. Breath stuck in his chest, heart pounding, he reaches back and fumbles around for Ortez’s fly. His hands shake as he does as he’s told and opens his assailant’s pants.

“Good.” Ortez tightens his grip on Wash’s throat, not enough to impede his breathing but firm enough Wash feels the threat. “Keep doing as I say, and maybe you’ll enjoy this too.”

Another shiver race down Wash’s spine, another gush between his legs. _Fuck, Sam knows all my buttons._ He tugs down Ortez’s pants and boxers, feels the warm weight of his erection against the back of his hand, and jerks as far as Ortez’s strong arms and unbreakable grip will allow. 

Ortez lets out a low laugh. “Playing coy now?” He runs his free hand up Wash’s side, fingers feather light and teasing. “Don’t pretend you won’t enjoy this. I know your mind, Washington.” His fingers curl around Wash’s hip, nails biting into the skin firm enough Wash lets out a breathy gasp. And all too quickly, Ortez releases his hip, reaching off toward the nightstand. “You can’t hide your desires from me.”

Wash shivers, his arousal slowly dripping down his thighs. He wants to curl up in a ball and hide, but with the threat of Ortez’s firm grip on his throat, he can only stand there and take it. Can only endure everything Ortez decides to give him. His groin flutters. God, he shouldn’t be this excited.

Ortez touches his thigh, his thumb swiping through the trail of Wash’s arousal. “Eager, aren’t you.”

“Fear response,” Wash replies, hoping he alone hears the quiver in his voice. “Can’t help it.”

“I’m sure.”

A quick click sounds, and seconds later, something cold slides over his inner thighs. Wash jerks at the cold, squirming back against Ortez. With a low growl, Ortez tightens his grip; Wash freezes. As the slick touch spreads to his other thigh, Wash chokes out, “What’re you doing?”

Another low chuckle, this time pressed against the curve of his ear. “Do you think you deserve my cock? No. Not while you’re still fighting me.” Ortez pauses for just a moment, sinking into his stance and jerking Wash up onto his tiptoes so Ortez’s freshly slick cock presses between his legs, pushing right up against Wash’s slit. He keens, involuntarily grinding down onto the length. Ortez swats Wash’s flank until Wash pulls his legs together; when they’re finally clamped tight around Ortez’s cock, Ortez groans deep in his throat. “Only good boys get fucked, but I can still take my pleasure from you.”

And without another word, Ortez pulls back and thrusts. Hard. His cock pushes between Wash’s thighs, stimulating the sensitive skin. Wash whimpers at the sensation, but Ortez pays him no mind. He pistons his hips, his dick sliding up through Wash’s taint and teasing at his slit. Wash wants to drop his head and watch, but Ortez keeps him on his tiptoes with his head tipped back against Ortez’s shoulder. Every could thrusts, Ortez pushes just right, and the head of his cock prods at Wash’s dick, sending a flurry of pleasure through him. 

Wash cries out, his hands instinctively reaching for his dick. 

“No,” Sam tells him, the hand on Wash’s throat pulsing. “No hands, Washington. Put them behind my head, and grasp your wrists. You take what I give you.”

Whining, Wash obeys. He loops his trembling arms behind Ortez’s neck, holding each wrist tight. Ortez hums, biting at Wash’s neck. Sucking in a sharp breath, Wash closes his eyes and focuses on squeezing his thighs tight. 

With a quiet groan into the nape of his neck, Ortez fucks into his thighs again. This time, Wash clenches in time with his thrusts, milking Ortez’s cock, reveling each little sensation of that warm cock thrusting against him. His mouth tips open without him realizing, and breathless noises are punched out of him, the same way he cries on nights when Sam is actually inside him. Maybe if he pretends long enough, he can trick himself into coming hands free. 

But just as Ortez’s grunts start to crescendo, every other thrust rutting over Wash’s slit and making him gasp and keen, Ortez stops. He’s fully seated between Wash’s thighs, his head painfully close to Wash’s dick, so close Wash can’t help grinding down onto him. 

Ortez squeezes his throat, briefly cutting off his air. “What did I say, Washington? What did I tell you to do?”

“Stay still,” Wash repeats, his voice thin and high. Even as he speaks, his hips squirm downward, seeking pleasure.

Ortez chokes him again, his other arm wrapping around Wash’s hips and pulling him to stop. “Don’t make me get the knife back out.”

Wash whimpers, still struggling and dripping and so so close to what he wants. So achingly close. “Please,” he pants. “Please, Sam. Please just fuck me. God, I want you so bad,” he babbles mindlessly. “Want you to fuck me ‘til I come and come, ‘til it hurts but you keep going until you’re satisfied. Want you to make me lick you clean and thank you for it. Wanna suck your cock and eat you out and be your little fuck puppet. Please, Sam, anything you want. Just let me come.”

“You wanna come?” Before Wash can reply, Ortez jerks him sideways, turning his chin to the side. “Then you better take a good hard look.”

Wash blinks and finds himself face to face with the mirror. A long pale body, flushed halfway down his chest, binder dark with sweat, his ruddy, wet dick twitching needily, the dark red head of Ortez’s cock poking through his thighs. Wash gasps at the sight in front of him, his mouth going dry. He looks like a slut, panting and eager and half-used already. By some miracle, he finds his voice. “ _Fuck, please._ ”

Ortez presses his face into Wash’s neck, licking and biting. Slowly, the arm around Wash’s middle eases, Ortez’s fingers skimming down, down, down, to Wash’s groin and—

“Fuck, yes,” Wash cries as Ortez rubs his dick. “Yes, thank you!”

With a muted chuckle, Ortez starts thrusting again. This time, he angles his hips upward, ensuring his dick presses against Wash’s slit every time he rolls his hips. Wash arches back against him, squeezing his thighs and eyes closed and falling into the rhythm of their bodies. He fists his hands behind his assailant’s neck and struggles to keep his footing as Ortez pulls him higher and higher. Closer and closer to the edge. Close enough Wash can taste release.

Suddenly, Ortez’s rhythm sputters. He gasps against Wash’s skin, and all too quickly, he removes his hand from Wash’s dick. 

“No! No, _ple_ —”

“I didn’t tell you to unfold all your dark desires, Washington,” Ortez says, punctuating Wash’s name with a hard thrust. “What did I tell you to do?”

He tenses all over, squeezing his legs tight and grinding back, reaching for his pleasure. “Please, Sam, ple—”

Ortez chokes him again just as warmth spills between his thighs, hot and sticky and not enough. Wash keens, squirming through Ortez’s orgasm, half milking him, half struggling toward his own release. He doesn’t stop until Ortez releases his throat and eases them down onto the bed. Doesn’t stop twitching and writhing and begging, but every plea falls on deaf ears. He searches for something, anything, his hands clenched tight together. Begging with every inch of his body. 

“Please, please.”

“No, Wash,” Sam says calmly as he presses kisses to Wash’s shoulder blades and the nape of his neck. “Not this time.”

With one last pained keen, Wash curls in on himself and shakes. Tears fill his eyes. His skin feels so tense and tight around him, and he can’t do a thing about it. With gentle hands, Sam loosens Wash’s arms from around his neck and eases them to his sides. Wash fists his hands to stop himself from reaching for his dick. 

Stroking down Wash’s side, Sam shushes him and wraps his big hands around Wash’s. Not to restrain him but in reverence. “You’ve done well. So well, Wash.”

Trembling, Wash mutters, “Promise?”

“Of course.” Still holding his hands, Sam pulls Wash against him, rocking Wash and cradling him until his eyes run dry and the buzz under his skin has abated. “Better now?”

Wash nods, his head heavy on his shoulders. Only once he moves does Sam release his wrists and grab a cloth off the nightstand. With swift, gentle motions, he cleans Wash’s thighs, the back of his hand pressing perilously close to Wash’s groin. By some miracle, he doesn’t grind on him. “How long do I have to stew?” Wash asks.

Sam lets out a tired little laugh. “After dinner,” he says. “I’ll sit you on my face and see what other dirty thoughts you want to share.”

Another flare of arousal pulses between his thighs. Wash groans. “I’m never gonna live that down.”

“Probably not,” Sam says as he settles back behind him and tips Wash’s chin toward him. “But I’ll make sure we both enjoy the depths of your depravity.”

Before Wash can retort, Sam kisses him. Wash lets his eyes fall closed and leans back into him. If these kisses are his reward, he’ll follow Sam wherever he leads.

**Author's Note:**

> Questions, comments, and concrit welcome! Come scream with me on Tumblr (birdsbeesandlemonadetrees.tumblr.com)


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